


Guest List

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow [7]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Dishonored AU, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medium Chaos (Dishonored), Snarky Corvo, Violence, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-19 07:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11308800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: Corvo has escaped Overseers, fought witches, and rescued an Empress before now. And the thought of attending the Boyle Party scares him more than those ever did.





	1. The Invitation - 1

The pistol dug into his spine. Corvo glared over his shoulder at the thug, but it did nothing to scare the press of the weapon away.

He had set foot in Bunting’s house only a handful of times. It was more pleasant than most apartments in the area, with its high ceilings and gold-framed portraits. Although, the various Bottle Street members snarling at Corvo lessened the effect. The gang had gotten smarter, it wasn’t anyone who could sneak up on him. They must have been watching for him, waiting for him to enter the District. Their ambush had been well planned.

The question at hand now was whether they planned to put a bullet between his eyes, or whether they merely wanted to talk.

Corvo shifted his stance on the uppermost floor, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. Slackjaw had a chair set in front of Bunting’s safe. He reclined back in it, sharp eyes brushing over Corvo’s form.

“Oh, yeah,” he began, arching his fingers thoughtfully, “old Slackjaw knows who you are. The bastard what slipped in and out of my Distillery like it was nothin’.”

Corvo stayed silent.

“Ain’t no reason to be modest. Second time you managed it, eh?”

Corvo felt himself frown. He couldn’t be talking about–

“Eight years ago. Caused a stir among my men, so I heard,” Slackjaw said. “Ain’t somethin’ a man like me forgets. A man what prides himself on knowin’ everything that goes on in his hard earned territory.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on either knee. “That includes when you poisoned my elixir still. I knew it was you, minute I set eyes on you.”

“So why am I alive?”

“He does speak. What a comfort.”

Slackjaw snapped his fingers, and one of his men lugged another chair opposite his own. The thug behind Corvo seized his shoulder and pushed him down into it. Corvo shrugged off his hand. Slackjaw jerked his head in a sharp motion, telling the muscle to back off.

“Forgive them,” he said. “Ain’t everyday dim-witted louts like these are faced with such a... complexity, like yourself.”

Corvo considered the possible exits from the corners of his vision. He could make it to the balcony doors, if he was fast. Very fast. “What makes you think I’m complex?”

Slackjaw gave a chuckle, deep in his chest. “You’re doin’ it now, I can see. Workin’ out how many of us you can take out before we cut you down. You’re a clever one. You’d have to be, to have gotten so deep into my Distillery without bein' caught.”

Corvo watched him closely. The gang leader wasn’t after his blood, for now at least. Corvo could see it; the way Slackjaw was studying his face, as though trying to solve a puzzle.

And after some deathly silent moments, Slackjaw reclined back once more. “I’ll tell you why you’re alive,” he offered. “If you tell me who and what brought you to my District today.”

Corvo shot a proper glance at the balcony doors. He wasn’t that fast, he suspected. Better not to risk it.

“Alright.”

~~~

THAT MORNING

"A masked ball, Sokolov said." Havelock folded his arms behind his back, deep in thought. "The timing, the situation. It's perfect."

Corvo knew what he was going to say. He didn't want to hear it. "You want me to go to the Boyle manor. In plain sight."

"You'd be in disguise, of course," Pendleton said. He took a healthy swig from his liquor flask. That thing never seemed to empty, and Corvo vaguely wondered what magic powers it held. "We're not such fools, to send you in as you are."

"You already have the perfect mask," Havelock pointed out, from across the meeting room's large desk. The drafts of the Boyle manor were laid out between them. "The plan is faultless."

"There are faults," Corvo retorted, and he heard Daud huff in either exasperation or amusement at his side.

The Admiral raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"I'm an assassin, not a noble."

"Then we lie. It’s as simple as that."

"It’s not simple. I've never had a reason to learn their etiquette," Corvo said. "I'd be found out the second I stepped through the door, if I managed to step through at all."

Havelock considered, before his gaze turned on Daud. "Sokolov mentioned you spent a winter at the Academy. You've been among the upper classes before, then."

Corvo watched Daud work his jaw, tense. "Yes."

It wasn't common, for that particular expression to come across Daud's features. Pure distaste. The Academy was a topic he kept under thick and stubborn wraps, dogged that his men would know as little about his time there as possible. Corvo was determined to find out every detail, someday.

For now, he said, "Daud can go, then."

"You'll both be going," Pendleton said, waving a curt hand at them. "You said it yourselves, you're both the most capable of all your men."

"And there are three Boyle sisters." Havelock began pacing back and forth. "Three possible targets, any one of them could be the Regent's mistress. We send the two of you," he said, gesturing between Daud's scowl and Corvo's icy expression, "and one more man. That way, you can speak to each of the Boyles and learn their identities in turn, quickly and without drawing too much attention. The only question is, who else to send?"

"Rulfio was a noble," Corvo said, not missing a mark.

"That man's mouth is worse than Arden's most days," Daud reminded him. "Thomas would be better."

"Then send him. And Rulfio. And send Pendleton if you have to." Pendleton blinked, clearly offended by his candour, but Corvo had seen his way out, and he grasped at it like a plagued man would at an elixir vial. "You'll have three men, either way. You don't need me to go."

"You're going," Havelock said, in a firm tone that brooked no argument. Corvo withered. "I won't take risks, sending someone else in your place. You've done exceptionally, thus far."

"And I have other, more important business to be focusing on in court, I'll have you know." Pendleton gave a complacent sniff, adding, "I'm sure you can find someone suitable enough to accompany you."

"Make a decision, and take whoever you think best for a third man. But first," and the Admiral paused, granting them all a very sombre look. "Before we get ahead of ourselves, you'll need to figure out a way inside the manor itself."

"And that, I believe, is where I come in."

Corvo glanced at the doorway, where Martin entered and came to stand beside him, after he and Daud had shared their routine sneers. The Overseer pulled some papers from his robes, and flattened them down on the desk.

"The party is invitation only. But I just happen to have a contact who knows the guest ledger. This," Martin pointed a gloved finger to the first piece of parchment, "is Theodore Bunting."

"The art dealer." Corvo's first client as a Whaler. "His gallery apartment's near the whisky distillery."

"And as luck would have it, he's to be one of the Boyles' esteemed guests a few nights from now." Martin gestured at Corvo with one hand, inspecting him over, "You're around his height and build, so his identity will be your way in, Corvo. Less danger of suspicion that way. You'll have to steal his invitation."

Corvo bit one side of his mouth. There was no avoiding the party, it seemed. Damn Martin for having chewed every detail to the bone. "Fine."

He kept his agitation to himself while the Overseer went over Daud's target. Some wealthy company owner Corvo had heard little about, Jervel Crawford, living in the Legal District. Corvo imagined finding a noble, or as close to it, who matched Daud's broad frame hadn't been easy.

Daud summoned Thomas in, as well, deciding he was the best candidate to join them. Thomas' invitation would come from Lord Estermont, also in the Legal District.

"There we have it, then." Havelock brought their planning to a close.

Martin turned to Corvo. "I trust you all know what you're doing? Nobles can be a finicky lot," he said, shooting a thin smile Pendleton's way, "as our dear Lord here proves day by day."

"I'm sure we'll manage just fine," Thomas said. "It's a simple breaking and entering job."

"Easy as it gets." Corvo nudged the Overseer's arm. "Have some faith."

~~~

Samuel docked on the shore of the Distillery District, hidden from view by the reeds growing at the river’s edge. It was the same spot as the day Corvo came for Emily.

Corvo stepped onto the sand, and glared at the mask in his hands.

"I doubt you'll be needing it, Corvo." The boatman granted him a sympathetic look. " I won't say anything to the Admiral."

Corvo clipped the mask onto his belt instead. "You're alright, waiting here again?"

"Don't think the old girl can be seen from the streets. If the Watch gets too close, I'll steer her further down river." Samuel smiled warmly, "Don't worry about me, sir. You focus on taking care of yourself, and I'll do the same, I promise."

Reassured, Corvo blinked onto the thick sewer pipes above, and made his way past the Wall of Light. Bunting's apartment instantly came into his sights, looming above the road with its dark and heavy outer walls. There was a back door, if Corvo remembered rightly. In Bottle Street territory, but easy enough to reach if he was careful.

He used the vent line spanning around the District's entrance to reach the rooftop opposite Bunting's home. He passed above Griff's black market emporium, and then dropped down into the art dealer's small courtyard. The back door was, predictably, locked. Corvo searched for a rat.

One was scurrying about nearby, and Corvo steeled himself before marking it. He hated this. He felt the link form, and then followed it through, blinking with his own eyes one second, then with the rat's in another. He squeezed through the puncture in Bunting's gutter, and followed the narrow shaft into a bathroom on the ground floor.

When he regained his own form, Corvo realised how eerily quiet it was inside. He'd expected to hear servants, at least, but there was nothing.

He nudged the bathroom door open, just a touch, to reveal the dark and ruined entrance hall. Bunting must have hit a rough financial patch; most of his paintings were gone, leaving rectangular outlines where they used to hang in display. The chandelier overhead was cracked and missing half its arms, and Corvo noticed, as he entered properly, that the art dealer's Pandyssian stoneware collection was missing all but two of its pieces.

Corvo took the staircase to the second floor Apart from one of Sokolov's paintings, somehow preserved amidst the residue, there was little that pointed to the party invitation. The entire apartment had been ransacked, and there was no sign of Bunting himself.

The upper floor, however, held a little more hope.

Corvo came to stand in front of the art dealer's safe; weighty and built into the wall, locked with a three number combination. A sophisticated design. If there was anything of import here, Corvo knew a smart man would have stored it inside.

He used his dark vision, catching sight of a promising green shape on the other side of the wall, when the butt of a pistol connected with his head and knocked him to the ground.

 _Perhaps he had become overconfident_ , Corvo admitted before he lost consciousness, _thinking he couldn't be taken by surprise anymore_.

~~~

"Then I came to. Over there." Corvo gestured with his head, to the outline of himself in the dust a few paces away.

"So you're the one what stole away with Sokolov." Slackjaw took a slow, calculated breath through his nose. "As well as poisonin' my still, it seems I have you to thank for the business I've been gettin' since the Royal Physician disappeared."

"Didn't do it for you."

Slackjaw scoffed. "Ain't sayin' you did. But no matter the why's, our paths have crossed again at a point of interest. You're goin' to the Boyles, eh."

Corvo gave a wary nod.

"An' you need Bunting's invitation to do that." Slackjaw stood and circled around his chair, coming to stand with his back to Corvo. His brows furrowed, as he seemed to be examining the art dealer's safe. "I been meanin' to get into this damn thing for months, but ain't no one good enough or stupid enough to try fetchin' the combination."

Slackjaw shot his men an accusatory look, and Corvo felt them all shuffle uneasily around him.

"Bunting will have the code with him."

"An' he's been camped out at the Golden Cat since his business went under. Security's tight 'round there now, what with the death of the Pendleton brothers." Slackjaw then turned his gaze back on Corvo. "I got a proposition for you. Somethin' I reckon will settle the score you owe me."

"I don't owe you."

Slackjaw threw his head back and laughed. "You ruined my still. Six of my men are weepers, and your people have been houndin' me for years. And what's more," he gestured around to Corvo's current company, all holding pistols and cleavers. Corvo saw the man's point before he voiced it. "You're still alive. You got little choice in the matter, if you wanna stay that way."

Corvo sucked on his tongue, hazarding a glimpse to the balcony doors once again.

"Listen." Slackjaw came to sit back down, leaning over his bent knees to catch Corvo's eye. "I don't wanna kill you. Believe it or not, I like you." Corvo's surprise must have been clear on his face, because Slackjaw gave a smirk. "You're smart, ain't no denyin' that. And all them times your people've tried to do away with me..." He gave an offhand shrug, "It ain't personal. It's business, and I can respect that. My thinkin' is, you got through my territory good enough. You can make it into the Golden Cat. If we can forget the past, I reckon we got us somethin' here that'll let us part ways as richer men."

Corvo studied the older man. He'd never met Slackjaw in person, of course, though he'd spent years hearing the stories of him. Bottle Street had a changeable reputation. The Whalers had always scorned the gang, but there was no question that the leader sat in front of Corvo now was smart.

Smart enough to plan an ambush on him.

And he was sparing Corvo's life, despite his actions against them. Merciful. A good trait in a leader. In another life, Corvo thought, he could perhaps see Daud and Slackjaw sharing a drink.

"You want the code."

"An' you need the invitation." Slackjaw smiled, seeing the acquiescence in Corvo's eyes. "What's your name?"

"Corvo."

"Then. We got ourselves a deal, Corvo?" Slackjaw extended a hand.

Corvo waited a moment, and then took it in his own. "We have a deal."


	2. The Invitation - 2

Slackjaw promised to be waiting in Bunting's apartment. It was both reassurance, and a threat. Corvo couldn't doublecross him, not if his gang was still loitering around there. Not when he needed the invitation, stored with the rest of the safe's treasure.

But, much to Corvo's surprise, he found he wouldn't consider swindling them even given the chance. Slackjaw made a good case, their deal would benefit them both. Bottle Street got Bunting's possessions, Corvo got what he came for, and both sides walked away without bloodshed.

It was an agreeable outcome, considering the potential shit Corvo could have fallen into.

He waited for the Watch Tower, stationed outside the Golden Cat's District, to turn its searchlight away from the boulevard. Once it had, Corvo blinked from streetlamp to streetlamp, landing at the entrance of the Captain's Chair. Slackjaw had given him the key, warning him that Sokolov's device was guarding the quarter now, after Morgan and Custis' murder.

Corvo knew he had himself to blame for that. Luckily the Captain's Chair wasn't a long detour.

He reached the hotel's roof, perching at the border to look over the brothel opposite. There must have been twice as many guards than last time he'd been there. Burrows had thrown thousands of coin into the building’s security, rather than ordering it closed and risk losing its patrons' support in Parliament.

Corvo thought it a petty decision, but he'd not expected different from their Lord Regent.

Blinking to the neighbouring apartment, he decided to stay as high up as he could, avoiding the patrols on street level. Dunwall's guards were easy to predict; throughout the years, Corvo had discovered they rarely looked above them.

The guard stationed on the Cat's balcony, however, had to go. Corvo vaulted down from the roof, grabbing the man's hair as he landed and knocking his skull against the stone floor. After hauling his unconscious form against the wall, Corvo slipped in through one of the windows, and moved along the rafters near the ceiling to reach the stairwell.

He quickly tracked down who he needed.

"Violetta."

The woman clutched a hand over her heart and span towards Corvo, who was perched above the dressing room door. "Outsider's eyes, Corvo! It's rude to sneak up on a lady."

"A lady," Corvo said dryly. "I need a favour."

Violetta arched a brow at him. "You need a favour. Honestly, your nerve." She turned back to the mirror, continuing to apply her lipstick. "I haven't seen you in Void knows how many months, and the first thing you want to do is talk work?"

"It's important." Corvo dropped down from the door, and closed it behind him after checking the staircase was still void of guards. "Wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

"It's always important," Violetta sighed. "All business and no pleasure with you, isn't it. You wound me, you really do. Do you ever visit just because you want to see me?"

Seeing Corvo's uncomfortable shifting through the mirror, she grinned.

"I'm only teasing, you dope. What do you need?"

"Do you know the client ledger?"

"Off by heart."

"I need Bunting's room."

Violetta paused, lipstick hovering over her lower lip. "Not after that old codger, are you? He's harmless."

"Just want to talk."

The courtesan's eyes glittered with interest. "Doesn't that sound mysterious. He's in the Silver Room, second floor."

Corvo tensed when he heard footsteps descending the stairs outside. They faded on the level above, but he didn't want to take chances lingering in one place. "Thanks." He turned to leave, but Violetta shot over and caught his arm.

"Oh, no you don't, mister." Her blue eyes narrowed up at him. "Count me in."

"In?"

"I'm coming along."

"No."

"The guards here are very good." Violetta folded her arms over her chest, sizing him up. "I'll scream if you don't let me come. I will."

"No, you won't."

Violetta pouted, bluff called. "Please, Corvo. It's been dull as the Void around here, the same customers have been loitering around for weeks. Let me have a bit of excitement!" She batted her eyelashes. "Pretty please?"

Corvo glowered, but held the door open for her. She would have come along no matter, he suspected. It was quicker not to argue with her.

She gave the side of his jaw a quick peck when she brushed past. Corvo wiped the smudge of lipstick away as he followed her up the stairs.

"And I should warn you," Violetta added, giving him a sheepish grin over her shoulder. "Bunting's into some... odd stuff."

~~~

Theodore Bunting was quite sure he felt his heart skip. Briefly, yes, but it had skipped all the same, and that was a worry.

“I really am sorry about this, sugar,” his torturer said. “But I’m gonna need you to tell me that code, or else you’re getting another zap.”

Her voice was sweet as honey, and Bunting expected she looked exquisite to match. Not that he could see anything. Why, oh why, did he always request a blindfold? He just knew it would get him into trouble sooner or later. And low and behold, here he was.

Yet another troublesome situation to add to his list, he thought dourly. First Barrister Timsh is arrested, then his own gallery becomes bankrupt. Then all that nonsense at the Golden Cat, people taking about murder and assassins and plots against the Regent and what not. And now this. He was being interrogated. _Interrogated!_ Honesty. This had not been a good year for him.

“How about a countdown, hun. Give you a few more moments to think it over? Three... two–”

“Void, fine! Fine!” he cried, wriggling his wrists in the chair’s straps. It was futile, of course, the cuffs were made from Morley metal. He did it more out of habit than with the intent to break free. “Don’t touch that lever! Eight nine seven, that’s the combination. Take anything you find, alright?”

“Not so hard, was it?” Bunting heard the rustling of paper, the scratching of a pen. Then a finger tapped the underside of his chin. “Chin up, hun. It’s all finished now. You did great.”

Bunting heard the sound of her high heels clacking past him, and disappearing as she stepped through the door. The art dealer sagged into the chair’s backrest with a weary sigh.

This had not been a good year for him at all. But at the very least, he was still alive and kicking. Which was more than could be said for most aristocrats in Dunwall, these days.

~~~

"Eight. Nine. Seven." Violetta sauntered towards him triumphantly, waving a piece of paper in her hand. Corvo didn't ask where she'd been storing the parchment. Or the pen she'd written the code down with.

The courtesan's assistance had proven invaluable, not that Corvo was surprised. Violetta had a mind and tongue like quicksilver. He still regretted, sometimes, that she’d refused to become a Whaler alongside him.

 _Leave this to me_ , she'd said in the Silver Room, after taking one look at Corvo's face as he stared at the machine Bunting was hooked up to. _I'll have that code for you in a jiffy_.

She was as good as her word, and Violetta smiled proudly as she handed the paper to him. "So, what's next?"

Corvo tucked the parchment into his jacket, searching for a route off the second floor's veranda. "Have to meet someone."

"You're going already?" Violetta frowned at him, disappointed. "That's it? I was having fun, being your dastardly accomplice."

"I need to go." Corvo hesitated. Giving into his fondness, he pulled her in by the shoulder and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You're wonderful. Thank you."

She beamed. "I am wonderful, aren't I. The guards change over in five minutes," she added, calling after him as he vaulted up onto the veranda's overhanging archways, to reach the brothel roof. "Don't get caught. And visit more often! You're one of the only men worth my time."

Corvo glanced down, making sure she got back inside safely, and then he circled around the jade crown of the roof to reach the hotel.

He took the alleyway connecting the boulevard and Bottle Street, and it wasn't long before he was blinking up onto Bunting's highest balcony. Slackjaw's men had un-barricaded the door at his request; Corvo would rather not use another rat for the backdoor route in. So he shouldered open the top floor's entrance without resistance, barring the ten or so pistols that pointed his way once he did.

Slackjaw raised a hand, and his men eased off immediately. "Well, well. That was faster than I reckoned it'd be."

Corvo approached, still a little wary of the man, and handed over the safe code.

"Eight, nine, seven." The gang leader inspected it, giving the paper a stern wave Corvo's way, "Better not be swindlin' me, Corvo. That'd be unwise, considerin'," and he waved it again pointedly, this time in the direction of his men.

"It's the code he gave," Corvo said. "Take it up with him if it's wrong."

Slackjaw chuckled, and beckoned Corvo with him to the safe. "I do like you." He began scrolling through the safe's numbers. "You ever need steady work, you come see me. Slackjaw knows a decent man when he sees one."

Corvo watched as the final number of the combination slot into place.

The safe gave a heavy click, its locks and bolts separating, and then Slackjaw swung it open.

He grinned. "Jackpot. Get in there, boys. We'll take it all."

The men swarmed, like rats to warm flesh, and ransacked the small room behind the wall until only dust and empty corners remained. They emerged carrying vases, portraits and gold coins in their arms, sniggering triumphant at one another.

Slackjaw exited last, one of Sokolov's own paintings spread between his hands. He'd lit up a cigarette, and he scoffed around the end of it, smoke puffing towards the high ceiling. "Rich, mean, and weird, these two were," he remarked, sneering at the Pendletons’ portrait. He took the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, and singed holes through each of Custis' eyes. "Good fuckin' riddance to 'em, is what I say. Know what I'd have done, if it were me?"

He grinned sidelong at Corvo.

"I'd have cut out their tongues, and shaved their heads, and put 'em to work in one of their own stinkin' mines. Now, that'd be true irony, that would."

Did he know, Corvo wondered, that he'd been the one to kill them? Given everything he'd seen of Slackjaw today, it wouldn't have surprised him.

Before he could give an answer, Slackjaw tugged something from his breast pocket. "Here. The invitation, as promised." He held his cigarette between his teeth, and began rolling up the Pendletons' portrait. "Ain't no one can say old Slackjaw doesn't keep his word."

Corvo took it, checking it over. It was the Boyles' invite, unquestionably. Corvo knew their writing, and their seal on the back of the envelope; he'd had to forge both himself for a job, once or twice.

He stored it in his coat, and waited before speaking, until Slackjaw had thrown the portrait at one of his men for them to carry away. "Thanks."

Slackjaw raised a brow, then extended his hand. "You have mine, as well. Ain't it lucky we happened upon one another."

Ambushes had little to do with luck, Corvo wanted to say. He held his tongue against the retort, and took Slackjaw's hand instead. They shook once more.

"Oh, and Corvo." Corvo paused midway through the balcony doors. "If you go near my Distillery again, I'll be cuttin' that pretty head of yours from your shoulders."

Slackjaw's parting smile led Corvo to suspect it was a joke. He wasn't certain, though.

~~~

He did go near the Distillery, immediately after he and Slackjaw parted ways. Only because the thought of taking the same route past Dr Galvani’s apartment made him uneasy. He didn’t want to take the risk. If he’d been spotted by Bottle Street, there was a chance he’d been spotted by someone else. A guard looking in his direction at the right moment, possibly.

It was paranoid, but Corvo wouldn’t hazard leading that someone, whoever it could be, near Samuel’s boat.

He happened upon the shrine by chance.

The path through Bottle Street led to Granny Rags’ old residence. Corvo heard the rune’s dull humming from the street, and when he glanced to the balcony, he noticed the faint yet unmistakable glow inside. He wondered whether others could see the fiery light it gave out, or only those bearing the mark.

He hopped up over the balcony rails, noting the candles surrounding the shrine were somehow burning still. The altar itself was makeshift from fastens of old wood, and spread with gold and purple drapes. It looked the counterpart of the first shrine Corvo visited, not twenty paces below, in the garden behind the old woman’s ruined kitchen.

Corvo gave the rune a steady look, then placed his palm flat on its surface.

Darkness smothered the candles’ flames, and from the smoke they left behind, the Outsider formed. The tip of his boots almost touched the ground, and the stare of his eyes, black as Corvo remembered, sent a tremor of foreboding up his spine.

 **“Corvo. What an interesting day you've had.”** The god bowed forward, watching him intently. **“Making new friends from old enemies. A prince fathered Slackjaw. Not many people know that little fact. He could have been the heir to a dynasty, and yet here–”**

“Not interested. I came for the rune.”

The Outsider bore closer, head tilted down to meet Corvo’s gaze levelly. **“We haven’t spoken since Delilah’s final stand. I did so enjoy watching it all unfold.”**

Corvo’s glare only seemed to cause the being further enjoyment.

 **“And now here you are. First a pawn on the Lord Regent’s chess board, now part of an insurgence against him. One that will go down in history perhaps, as the greatest the Isles has ever seen.”** His hand reached out, and Corvo slowly, warily, offered his left. The cold of the Outsider’s fingers bit into his own. **“I say perhaps, of course. There are always two sides, two outcomes, to every story.”**

“Only two,” Corvo said drily. “How sparse.”

The Outsider’s lips might have turned upwards. Corvo’s eyes were never quick enough to catch it. **“There is always change, Corvo. I’ve seen so much alter over time, and grown tired of a great many things. Those who came before you withered, and disappeared into nothing, one by one. I envisage to one day count you among them.”**

His thumb followed Corvo’s mark, studying the patterns across his skin.

**“You, as you are now. That is how I desire the world to remain.”**

Corvo felt himself frown. “Didn’t think gods could desire anything.”

 **“To be alive is to feel. Anything living has the potential to desire.”** The being drew back and turned his gaze away. He released Corvo’s hand. **“And to fear.”**

And Corvo realised why this creature in front of him, this otherworldly god beyond anyone’s understanding, suddenly sounded so human. “You’re afraid of something.”

The Outsider was still, a statue among the shadows of the room. A single blink of his eyes was all the answer Corvo needed.

“Of what?” he demanded.

The god’s pale lips parted, only slightly, and closed as though in doubt. Every movement, so uncertain, so human, fed Corvo’s agitation. Finally, the Outsider spoke. **“There is something coming for you. Something I cannot discern with any simplicity. It is not... clear enough to see.”**

“You can't give me a straight answer.”

 **“I can say this,”** the Outsider answered, head turning back until Corvo was once again captive to his gaze. **“It will be loyalty, and betrayal. It will be life, or death.”**

“Life or death," Corvo repeated quietly. "Two sides, two outcomes?”

The Outsider's head canted down, scarcely a nod at all. **"I ask only this.”** Corvo's hand was taken once again, encased in what felt like Tyvian ice. **“Be heedful. Until your conspiracy is finished, be vigilant.”**

It occurred to Corvo, then, exactly what this was. “You’re warning me.” He twisted his hand away, aftershocks of the cold rippling over his flesh. “And you’re afraid, why? You don’t play favourites. Those were your words.”

 **“Dear Corvo.”** The Outsider looked at him, long and motionless. But there was something in the depth of his eyes. Something Corvo couldn’t completely discern. The most accurate word he could find was trepidation. **“Anything living has the potential to lie.”**

His form thawed back into smoke, and the smoke snaked back to each of the candles, lighting them as it went. The shrine’s rune was gone, and Corvo’s mark felt heavy in the sudden solitude.


	3. The Training Session

From across the main area of the bar, Daud watched as Callista scolded the girl. Giving her the danger talk, the _you had me worried sick_ talk. It was a conversation Daud was familiar with, having had it a hundred times with his own men.

Emily glared up at the nursemaid, holding her nerve against the rebukes. Daud had to admire her courage. Callista could give even Rulfio's scoldings a run for their coin.

The Admiral was with them, reinforcing the nursemaid's reprimands in a calmer manner. Havelock spoke to the girl of responsibility. _You're going to be Empress_ , he kept reiterating. _Empresses cannot merely run off and abandon their responsibilities whenever they feel like it_.

Daud could see how sick of it all Emily was becoming.

She hadn't run away for long, and Aeolos had brought her back safely, hours before sundown. Daud suspected the girl had just wanted to escape for a while. Daud knew that feeling, far too well. She was just a child, he thought bitterly, feeling sympathy twist in his gut. She shouldn't be chided for acting like one, Empress or not.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, he spoke. "Leave her be."

Havelock and Callista turned on him, the nursemaid still seething and the Admiral's brow furrowed sternly.

Daud didn't look at Emily.

"You heard me. She's not the first child to shirk her lessons. Leave her be."

"But not all children are heirs to the Crown," the Admiral said. "She cannot be allowed to just wander–"

"She's not a prisoner," Daud growled, anger suddenly moving him to grit his teeth. "She's allowed wherever she pleases. She didn't leave the District, and one of my men was with her."

"That doesn't excuse–"

"Leave. Her. Be." Daud's hard gaze challenged them both to speak back to him again.

Callista had a few more hushed words with Emily, and then took her leave. Havelock left soon after up the stairwell.

Satisfied, Daud took a drink of his whisky, trying to ignore the feeling of Emily's dark eyes on him. The girl was still stood near the bar, and Daud knew she was looking at him, even without summoning the nerve to properly meet her gaze.

They hadn't been alone around the pub before. Corvo was always there with them, or Callista was at the very least. Daud quickly regretted causing the nursemaid to leave.

He gulped down another drink, and tried to focus on something else. Daud hadn't long gotten back from the Legal District with Thomas. Getting Crawford's invitation to the Boyles' had been easy. _You're shit at stealth_ , Corvo told him. Daud was looking forward to showing him the invite and proving his opinion wrong, once he'd returned.

Daud tried not to worry. The Distillery District was so much further than his and Thomas' destination, hence Samuel taking Corvo in the boat, while they'd gone on foot. It only made sense that Corvo wasn't back yet. He'd be alright, Daud knew. Hoped. He hoped. Corvo had an extraordinary knack for getting himself into trouble, even on the simplest jobs–

Daud stared across the booth. Emily had slid into the seat opposite.

The girl stared back, a glass of water held between her hands, as Daud's whisky was held between his. Their positions were mirrored.

"Thank you."

Daud had never gaped in his life. He felt himself do it now, the limpness of his jaw a foreign and unsettling sensation.

"You helped me. Just now," Emily clarified. She took a big gulp of water, then looked back up. "You didn't have to. I had it under control."

Daud almost choked out a laugh at her haughty tone, but he found he couldn't. His throat was too dry. "I apologise."

The steadiness of his voice came as a pleasant surprise.

Emily seemed to test his sincerity, before she gave a small nod. "It's okay. I think you got rid of them faster than I could have." She tapped a nail on the side of her glass. “How do you... How did you make them listen to you?”

Daud stared blankly.

“You’re in charge of Arden and Quinn and the others, so they have to listen to you. But Callista and the Admiral don’t. So how did you make them do what you told them to?”

Daud knew why she was asking, of course. Emily was to be Empress someday. It was smart of her, to want to hone the skills she’d need to be in charge of such a vast Empire. It was promising.

It still took Daud several seconds to answer.

“I... you need to..." He cleared his throat. "Sound as though you’re giving the orders, and people will believe you are. No one will question your authority.”

“Authority?”

“You’ll make them think you’re in charge.”

Emily nodded slowly, pondering it, storing the information away for later practice.

Daud was bemused that they were having a conversation at all. They had never said a direct word to one another.

And they didn't say anything more, for a time. Emily merely sat opposite him, swinging her legs below the table and nervously chewing on her lip. Daud kept having to address the tension in his shoulders, trying to get himself to settle down and not flee from the room like a coward.

"Wyman said you're not bad. Aeolos, I mean," the girl corrected, seeing his confusion.

Daud frowned. Aeolos had never so much as mentioned their given surname, before now.

"And Corvo said the same thing. They told me you're not... bad," Emily repeated with a small frown, struggling to explain it. "Not like my Spymaster was. You've made bad choices, but I think that's different from _being_ bad. You did kill my mother," she said slowly. "I didn't see it happen, but I remember anyway."

Daud closed his eyes, swallowing against the heavy, far too familiar surge of remorse that washed into him. "Yes."

"But you're trying to be better now. Is that true?"

He could admit that much, at least. "It is."

Emily grew quiet for a long time, something dangerously intelligent working behind her eyes as she scrutinised him. Finally, she sat up straighter in her chair, placing her hands together atop the table.

"I'm not forgiving you, and I probably won't. Not ever." Her words were firm, said with a certainty only a child could possess. "But you're here to help me, and Corvo trusts you. So I will trust you from now on, too."

No kid her age should sound so grown up. It was unnerving.

Daud didn't know how to answer her, but he managed a stiff nod, eventually. It was all he could give her for the moment.

Emily nodded as well, taking another drink of water. She looked a little shaken after her speech, as though she'd been steeling herself for it for a while. Now she'd gotten it off her chest, she put the glass down and met Daud's gaze once more.

"Do you know when Corvo will be back?"

Daud downed half of his own drink, letting the whisky scorch his throat. The burn grounded him slightly. He imagined it would be some time before the reality of Emily's words, her pledge of trust – more than Daud had thought possible between them, and certainly more than he deserved – sunk in.

"No. I don’t," he answered roughly.

Emily pursed her mouth, before shuffling out of the booth. She turned to him, and her chin was raised as though daring Daud to refuse her.

"Then you're going to teach me to fight, instead."

~~~

"Well. This is a sight I never would have expected."

"I know."

"By the Void."

"Yeah."

"I thought you were having me on."

"I was tellin' you the Void honest truth of it," Arden chuckled around his cigarette. "Little tyke's got balls, I'll give her that. Askin' Daud for a sword lesson. Man ain't got the patience for it."

"Oh, come now." Feodor peered down from the walkway connecting the attic room and Emily’s tower, overlooking the pub's courtyard. "He doesn't seem to be doing all that badly. Considering," he added.

"Considering," Arden agreed from beside him. "Considering he's been risking life and fuckin’ limb to avoid the girl since now."

Feodor watched Emily parry Daud's strike, grinning gleefully when she was triumphant. Daud instantly criticised her footwork, and the girl's smile changed to a haughty frown. But there was resolve in her expression, as well, and she insisted to try again, and again, until she had mastered the movement.

"How long have they been out here?"

Arden puffed a cloud of smoke towards the sky. "I dunno, few hours. Boss looked dead in shock for most of it."

Feodor plucked the cigarette from Arden's fingers and took a quick drag. "Well, like I said. He appears to be doing fine now."

"Got the same fuckin' look he had when he trained Billie the first time."

Feodor inspected for himself as Arden snatched the cigarette back.

True enough, after a moment or two of careful searching, he managed to pick out the subtle hints. How Daud paused a second too long after each hit, to make sure Emily had recovered. The way he explained a mistake she'd made in more detail than was needed, to give her time to catch her breath and ready herself once again.

"At this rate, girl's gonna be a better fuckin' fighter than she is an Empress."

"She could be both," Feodor remarked.

"Aye, she could. but that'd take a lot of fuckin' work."

Emily swung and managed to catch Daud's arm with the practice blade's edge. It would without doubt leave a bruise.

"She seems willing to put the work in, I'd say." Feodor got to his feet and stretched, whacking Arden's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Come on. We're supposed to be on duty."

Arden flicked the cigarette away, straightening up with a groan. "Fifty coin, Fee. If she keeps this up, I'm bettin' fifty coin she'll be better than all of us by the time she's eighteen."

Feodor gave the young Empress one last glance. "Sixteen," he answered, seeing the determination in Emily's eyes. "I'll bet for when she's sixteen."

~~~

"How can there be a _wrong way_ to hold a sword?"

By the Void, the girl had more questions than Finn. Daud inhaled through his nose, trying to channel Rulfio's patience. "Because there is. Watch me again–"

"But Corvo holds it like this sometimes." Emily flipped the practice sword until the blade faced downwards, and Daud felt irritation clench in his jaw. "He never told me that was wrong."

"He's stubborn," Daud snapped. "And thinks he can hold a sword however he likes, and it will somehow be correct. Maddening idiot."

A small smile appeared on Emily's face for a second. It was enough to make Daud swallow whatever other curse he'd been about to bite out. Something about Corvo's egotism being the inevitable death of him.

"I thought you and Corvo were friends. Or, kind of. You know..." She trailed off, and Daud felt heat spread up his neck.

"We are," he grunted.

"So you don't really think he's an idiot, do you?"

Daud didn't, of course. But he'd used the word to describe Corvo so many times, he supposed it had become an endearment. "No. I don't."

Emily scuffed the toe of her shoe against the dirt. "That's good. He likes you."

"Does he," Daud muttered through his teeth, rubbing a hand beneath his collar to try and dispel the flush there.

"I think so. He looks at you like my mother looked at Pierre. Before the plague."

The former Royal Protector. Rumours had it that he was Emily's father. Whether true or not, the man had died some months after the plague came to Dunwall.

Daud grasped for something to say. Should he say anything at all? But then Emily shook herself.

"So this is wrong?" she asked, brandishing the practice sword with a frown. "The way Corvo holds it sometimes?"

"It works for him," Daud conceded, relieved to be back on a more secure road of discussion. "But it may not for you. You'll find in time what suits you best. It could be that blade work isn't even your forte."

"Forte?"

"Your preferred way to fight."

Emily's eyes widened. "There are even more ways? Like what?"

Daud began to explain, mystified as the girl tugged him to sit on the ground with her, listening bright-eyed and intent to every word he said. She reminded him of Quinn, as he'd been when he first began practising their trade. Unafraid and eager, but with a lot to learn, and firing questions from anywhere and everywhere.

The sun had begun to set when they'd first ventured out onto the courtyard, at Emily's order. As agonising and awkward as it had been at first – Daud hadn't known where to begin, and it was clear Emily wasn't faring much better – they had muddled through it, and come quite a way in the last few hours. Emily had found the bravery to begin asking him questions, and Daud the bravery to give her answers.

She looked like her mother, still, and it was always the first, harrowing thought Daud had upon seeing her. But it was getting easier to look, the more they spoke. And the fonder he became.

"You may prefer not to fight at all," he remarked, although, noting her keen grip on the handle of the practice sword, he doubted it.

Emily wrinkled her nose. "But fighting's so much fun! And Callista doesn't want me to, so I _have_ to learn."

"That's no reason to pursue it," Daud chided. The girl was stubborn as Corvo. Perhaps it had been a mistake for him of all people to become her guardian. Daud wasn't certain he could tolerate another, albeit tinier version of the man's pigheadedness.

"I think it's a very good reason," Emily huffed, and she scrambled to her feet. "And I've decided I'm going to learn everything."

Daud stood with her. "Everything?"

Emily gave a resolute nod. "Everything. Blade work, and wristbows, and hand-to-hand fighting, and Tyvian chokeholds, and sneaking around, and everything else."

"Ambitious of you."

"I can do it!"

"I didn't say you couldn't. Like this," Daud repositioned her fingers around the blade's handle. "I said it was ambitious."

"Is that a bad thing?"

He gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulder, and said no more about it. "Are you ready to begin?"

Emily nodded, and Daud showed her through the motions again, the footwork, correcting her where she needed it, praising her when she deserved it. It was simpler, he found, to think of the girl as one of his novices, rather than an Empress. She didn't swing a sword like an Empress, of that much Daud was certain. The bruises on his forearm, from where her sword had clipped him, vouched for it.

And after it had gotten dark, and Callista came to take Emily to their bedroom, the girl bid him goodnight and thanked him for staying up with her. Daud made some noise or other in reply, and returned to the bar, sitting silently in front of his now stale whisky.

It was how Corvo found him, when he and the boatman returned at last.

“You look awful.” Ever to the point was Corvo. The man perched on the table beside him. “Are you alright?”

“I should be asking you that.” Daud watched the bronze liquid swirl around in his glass as he tilted it. “You’re late.”

“I’ve had a strange day.”

“As have I.”

Corvo slid into the booth, taking Emily's earlier place in the bench opposite. "Then tell me about it."

So, unable to deny him, Daud did. He told him about Emily sneaking away with Aeolos, Callista and Havelock finding them, Daud coming to her rescue. Their training session, all of which was still something of a blur to him.

He let Corvo examine the bruises Emily’s practice sword had inflicted on his arm.

“These will take some time to heal,” Corvo remarked. “She’s getting better.”

“Now that she’s able to hold a sword correctly.”

“Rulfio never told me there was a right way.”

“There is. How you’ve ever managed to use a blade under his guidance at all is astounding.”

Shooting him a deeply unimpressed look, Corvo stood, and stalked to the cellar to snag something from Pendleton’s private stash.

When he returned, with what looked like a ludicrously expensive wine bottle, he took Daud's hand and pulled up from the booth. “Need a bath.” Daud followed obediently, abandoning his whisky once again. "We'll see which of us had the stranger day."

~~~

They agreed to call it even, in the end.

Daud dipped his fingers into the water, and grazed them over Corvo's bare arm. The half finished bottle was on the floor beside them. From where he sat, on a stool behind the tub, Daud could see the steam clouding the entire bathroom; the mirror had fogged up and moisture hung in the dense air. Corvo tipped his head back into the water, eyes closed.

"You were telling me about Slackjaw."

Corvo hummed sleepily. "Not much more to say. He let me go, I let him go."

"Slackjaw," Daud repeated under his breath. "And you decided not to bring him in, or kill him. After all the years we've spent trying to do exactly that."

"He'd have killed me first. So no, I decided not to kill him."

"A wise decision, then. I suppose."

"Your trust in me is heartwarming," Corvo said, monotone.

"And you're saying he and his men took you by surprise?"

A flush spread over Corvo's face, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the bath water.

"You? The great Corvo Attano? What is it you say," Daud pretended to ponder. " _I'm never seen?"_

"It worked out." Corvo gestured to Bunting's invitation, atop his clothes heap in a corner of the bathroom. "See?"

"Yes. Truly impressive. But I'll remind you, in spite of your triumph," Daud remarked, motioning to the envelope, "that you were still seen. By a gang of thugs, no less."

He felt a splash of water hit his chest, soaking the front his shirt. Corvo's glare was firmly in place, attempting to be icy and unnerving, but Daud saw through it. The man's eyes were soft, enjoying their teasing. Daud bent forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

Corvo stretched up into it. Warm. Reassuring. "You're glad I'm back."

"Of course I am."

"And you're glad Emily spoke with you."

"I..." Daud couldn't give a definite answer. He was, and he wasn't. In a way, it would have been easier if they'd simply continued to avoid one another. "I don't know what to feel about it. Not yet."

Corvo didn't say anything more, and Daud was grateful. The man seemed to know, always, when to leave a topic as it stood for a while. Perhaps Daud would feel more certain about it all. He just needed time.

Instead, Corvo sank back into the water's warmth. "There's something else you should know. I saw the Outsider before I met with Samuel."

Daud felt a snag of apprehension catch in his throat. Mention of the Outsider never led to good news. "And what did the black-eyed bastard have to say this time? Do we have another name to follow," he added bitterly.

"Another mystery, maybe." Corvo turned his head slightly, to meet his gaze. This must have been something serious. "He told me there was something coming."

Daud waited for more explanation. He wasn't particularly surprised when he got none. "How vague."

"There was more." And Daud's apprehension heightened as he watched Corvo's brows arch down, pensive and puzzled. "He was afraid. Of whatever it was he couldn't see."

"Couldn't see?"

"He said he didn't know what was coming. Just that it was coming for me."

Daud swallowed the rush of dread that surfaced at those words. "It's likely one of his tiresome games. I wouldn't be surprised–"

"It wasn't." The certainty in Corvo's voice unnerved him. "I was there, I saw him. He was scared of it. Scared enough to warn me about it."

"Warn you? The Outsider doesn't give warnings, Corvo."

"He did today."

They lapsed into silence for a time, Corvo mostly buried beneath the water, Daud absently lacing his fingers through the man's wet hair while he thought.

Finally, he lowered his hands to Corvo's shoulders, making him peer up. Perhaps it was Corvo's influence, or perhaps it was remembering all they had been through in the past year. Or perhaps it was simply the confidence Daud had gained from finally speaking with the young Empress, that made him say it. And even believe it. "Then we'll be ready."

Corvo frowned up at him.

"We've made it through Brigmore. Through Delilah. Whatever the Outsider spoke of, we'll make it through that as well. We'll be ready for what comes."

"You're never this optimistic."

"Well," Daud considered, trying not to let a smile fight free, "it's a day of great changes. You were seen, and as it happens, I wasn't. Thomas and I got our invitations without any difficulty."

Corvo ordered him from the bathroom, to leave him in peace. He settled down to a mere sullen silence, once Daud continued threading the tangles loose from his hair.

"Wonder if this is how Pendleton bathes," Corvo mused after a while, and Daud clicked his tongue irritably.

"Does this put me in the role of manservant, then?"

The smile Corvo shot him was thin, and pleased. It was a sight Daud decided he didn't see nearly enough of.

"Suppose so. And does that mean you'll bend to my every whim?"

"Don't push it. I'm not Wallace."

"No. And I doubt his Lordship would be sharing the wine." Corvo reached down blindly to grab for the bottle. He took a swig straight from it, looking far from a regal noble. He offered the bottle behind him. "So I'm not Pendleton, either."

"Thank the Void for that." Daud took the bottle, but discarded it in favour of resting his arms over the side of the tub, and resting his head near Corvo's. He nudged the side of his head with his nose. "Are you planning to stay in there all night?"

Corvo shook his head, and mumbled, "Few more minutes." Daud couldn't find it in his heart to argue.

And while Corvo began to doze, Daud looked at his rolled up sleeves and pressed his fingers to the bruises Emily's practice sword left on his forearm. It didn't feel like a bitter pain, he decided.

It felt hopeful.

Whatever otherworldly nuisance was coming for them this time, they would be ready.


	4. The Skull Masked Man

The Boyles, Roland speculated, hadn’t gotten any less decadent with the coming of the plague. The fireworks joyously bursting above the foyer’s glass roof proved that much.

With the amount of food and drink and general splendour within the mansion’s walls, one would think it was time for the Fugue Feast. Roland took a sip from his glass – pure crystal, of course. And he’d be damned, but it _was_ good champagne.

Though the taste was made sourer by the faint sounds of the Tallboys outside. The streets of the Estate District would no doubt be littered with weeper corpses by tomorrow.

It was cruel, positively inhumane. Roland knew that little fact with every fibre of his being. No one at the party seemed to want to speak of the changes happening in Dunwall; the Walls of Light, the rats, the fact that innocent people were starving. Roland supposed, safely inside their high walls, it was easy to forget such things.

Roland could never seem to forget, though. Void take him for being the only aristocrat in Dunwall with half a heart, it was truly frustrating.

He wanted to talk about it, _do_ something about it. But his influence, his say, was constrained to the Legal District alone. He had proudly bettered the place since Timsh’s arrest. But here, in what was very much Boyle territory, he was swimming with the hagfish. Roland knew better than to begin criticising his hosts’ morals aloud.

So he merely lit up a cigarette, hunting around the smoking room for anyone who might be interesting conversation. Most of the talk was about the Boyles’ ludicrous guessing game. All three costumes were identical in style. Only colour distinguished them, and every sister had to be identified for the cameo to be won.

Tiresome, in Roland’s opinion. But he might as well try his hand at winning, anyway. The Boyle cameo was worth ten times its weight in coin, as the rumours had it. He could use that coin to further improve his residents’ lives, after Timsh's frivolous taxing system.

Roland listened idly to the chitchat for a while, before deciding he wouldn’t hear anything useful here. He was about to leave for the foyer, but stopped short when he spotted Lord Brisby.

“Timothy?” Roland approached the aristocrat, and his frankly horrifying rat mask. Brisby was wringing his hands, pacing round and around one of the empty arm chairs. The other men were beginning to shoot him concerned glances. “Are you alright, old boy?”

“Roland!” Brisby took hold of his arm and yanked him closer. Roland spilled a few drops of champagne onto the carpet. “Tell me, tell me right now, have you seen a guest wearing a– a– oh, bother, what did Pendleton say it would be?”

Roland waited as Brisby snapped his fingers together.

“A mask in the shape of a skull. Have you seen anyone like that, here, tonight?”

“I can’t say that I have.” Roland carefully pried the whisky glass from the man’s shaking grip. Clearly he’d had a few drinks too many, and it was only ten o’clock. “Perhaps let off the spirits for a while, yes? Go out into the gardens, get some air.”

“No, no I must stay here. I must! But if you see him, the man in the skull mask, you have to send him my way, send him right here. Do you understand, Roland? Tell him I must speak with him, it’s of the utmost importance.”

“Yes, yes, very well.” Roland edged out of Brisby’s hold on his shoulders, taking in his dishevelled hair and rumpled sleeves. “Outsider’s eyes, old boy, you’re in a state. I thought you were here to speak with Waverly?”

“This is _about_ Waverly! If I don’t find him soon, he might–” Brisby cut himself short, pacing once again. “Confound it, this is a nightmare. Where is he, Pendleton said he’d be here.”

Roland decided to back off. “Keep an eye on him, would you,” he asked the Watch guard at the doorway. “Make sure he doesn’t cause a scene. Void knows, his reputation won’t survive another one,” he muttered under his breath, as he headed to the foyer.

It was a bloody chore, trying to discern who from whom with all this masked business, but he caught a glimpse of someone who could provide a bit of entertainment.

“Ah, Miss White,” he called, raising his champagne glass in greeting. “How wonderful to see you.”

“Roland? It _can’t_ be, is that Wiles Roland?” He saw her squinting at him through the eyes of her hideous moth mask. “My, it’s been months,” she exclaimed, scurrying over from the games room to join him. “I’ve heard all about your hard work in the Legal quarter, of course, you know me. Nose to the grindstone. Such a shame about old Arnold Timsh. Oh, it’s been so long since we’ve spoken, this is just lovely! How have you been?”

“Busy, Miss White, very busy indeed. But, you’d know. Nose to the grindstone and all that.” He offered his arm, and Miss White hooked her hand through the crook of his elbow. “But I want to talk about you, not me. I’m sick to death of me. What have you been up to?”

“Oh yes, you’ve missed so much gossip, you poor dear. Come, come! Get me a drink, I’ll tell you everything on the way.”

They strolled through the drawing room, the library, and into the dining hall. There was a grand buffet spread across the table, confetti sprinkled over the carpets. The Overseer and his music box, stationed like a formidable sentry in front of the stairwell, had Roland’s nerves spiking for some reason. He had never liked the look of those contraptions they carried around with them.

“Then there’s this guessing game nonsense tonight. There simply must be clues as to which sister is which,” Miss White said, as Roland handed her a glass much too full of sparkling wine. “I was thinking of sneaking upstairs to look for clues, but,” and she waved her free hand towards the Overseer, “he’s frightened me away from that idea. He hasn’t moved so much as a muscle for the entire evening, it’s positively off putting.”

“A shame. It would have been rather exciting to have tried our hand as burglars, wouldn’t it.”

Miss White chuckled, and smacked him lightly across the chest. “You’re awful, Wiles, you really are.”

“No worse than you, my dear.” Roland came in close, mouth near her ear. Her mask’s antenna jabbed into the side of his head. “Surely you have an idea of who’s who? I know you, Adelle, the nobility’s secrets are powerless against your keen eye.”

Miss White peered gleefully around at the other guests, before leaning back in to whisper. “Well, I know that Waverly’s in black tonight. In mourning for her reputation, I suspect.”

“Hmm, indeed. Everyone in court knows she’s taking a tumble in the Regent’s bed these days. Scandalous.”

Miss White hummed in agreement, “As for the other sisters, it’s anybody’s wager. Lydia and Esma have always been so pompously similar, I could never tell them apart.”

“This business with Waverly and the Regent has gotten old Brisby into a state, you know. I saw him rambling to himself in the smoking room.”

“Poor lamb, he could do so much better. Waverly’s a prude as it it.”

“Brisby still thinks highly of her.”

“Oh, pish posh. He always has. That man needs to open his eyes and think, is she really worth risking his reputation over? What remains of his reputation, that is,” Miss White tutted. “I imagine it’s in shambles after that meltdown in Parliament. Honestly, how silly to criticise Hiram Burrows in his own court meeting, and all because Waverly’s his mistress. It’s not worth it, Roland, if you ask me.”

Roland pretended to listen as she switched onto another topic, chattering away obliviously while he became increasingly bored. He picked through the crowds, until he caught sight of Waverly Boyle’s deep-black attire. If it even was Waverly. Miss White could have it wrong.

“Oh! I think I see Lord Estermont over there!” Miss White deposited her glass beside the large, roast hare that was taking up most of the banquet table. “Stay right where you are, Wiles, and don’t you dare run off. I’m not done with you yet, but I simply _must_ say hello to Estermont, it’s been such a long time!”

Roland watched with amusement as she scampered away, grabbing poor Estermont’s hands when she reached him. Estermont himself looked a ravishing sight, Roland had to confess, an intricate stag’s mask covering the top half of his face. Perhaps once he’d had a little more to drink, Roland might try his luck with him.

He glimpsed around the dining hall for someone who could be decent conversation. His prospects looked bleaker the more he searched. It was unlikely that Ramsey would be interested in anything he had to say, the man was always going on about his own business ventures, and Roland knew nothing about Whale oil. Jane Blair was too far down the pecking order to risk being seen with.

Crawford might supply a laugh or two, perhaps, but he’d been ambushed by Miss White along with Estermont.

Roland titled his head as he studied the man. It may have been the alcohol playing tricks on him, but he swore Estermont was an inch or so shorter than last he’d seen him–

“Excuse me.”

Someone brushed past him to reach the table, grabbing the first drink within their reach and pushing their mask up to take a healthy swig. Roland paused with his own champagne glass halfway to his lips.

He remembered that voice, and it certainly didn’t belong here.

Roland tapped on his shoulder, and the stranger, dressed head to toe in black, turned cagily to meet his gaze. Roland remembered those eyes, as well. Dark as he imagined the Outsider’s were.

Those eyes, almost hidden beneath his skull-like mask, narrowed when they recognised him. Corvo's hand snuck under his coat, likely resting over some weapon or other.

"Now, now. There's no need for that," Roland said, hoping the tone he adopted was reassuring enough. He had no wish to be stabbed point blank, and if he had learned anything from the last time they'd met, it was that assassins were distrustful creatures. “I had hoped to see you again, Corvo. Though this is the last place I would have expected.”

This party had suddenly become a little more interesting, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break for a bit, part 3 will take a week or so. Not really feeling the story at the minute, but it will get there. Thanks for the nice comments guys, the encouragement and support is very much appreciated.


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